


Words Spoken

by WrynnsBlade



Category: Xī yóu jì | Journey to the West - Wú Cheng'en
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 04:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18045629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrynnsBlade/pseuds/WrynnsBlade
Summary: Taking the Great Sage aside, Tripitaka divulges his worries.





	Words Spoken

            Humans have a deep fascination with the sky. Heads tilting upwards, they always strain to see the ceiling above them. It was a vast, war, beautiful summer blue today, but at night he can see his Master stare at it with longing. Even as a playful breeze tugs the group forward, pushing them to go further along the road to make their journey ever shorter with every step taken to the West, WuKong’s thoughts linger on his master. Something about the vast sky makes the monk ache, and the monkey can see it clearly on his face.

            So when the sun sets, dying for the another night and coloring the sky with its desperate rays of orange and pink and purple, he sits patiently alongside the bald master. There’s a silence shared between them as the day sinks into somber hues of night, of sapphire and onyx and clouds of slate. Poetic is the simplest way to describe how the night comes, a balm to the heat of the day. It’s soothing for demons to watch the sun fade away into the distance. All things they do can be hidden in the cover of night without worry of human interference.

            Sprinkled in the night sky are diamonds, houses of celestials lighting the darkness as an overbearing reminder that Heaven lingers even now. Watchful and stagnant, each house is a marker to help humans who use them to guide their way. “That’s one of the Eastern Heaven generals houses,” WuKong says. His breath is a puff of warmth against the suddenly chilly air. Starting to already turn, the change was hidden by the darkened sky. Leaves didn’t turn yet, though he could see the colors in the distance every time he took to the sky with his cloud. And only those that travel at night would know that fall would be clinging to their heels soon enough, though it became very apparent it was starting to seep into the lovely summer days.

            They would have to huddle together at night again soon. WuKong didn’t mind sharing his bed with his brothers and master. He radiated enough heat to keep the group warm. Though it seemed more and more these days that Pigsy clung to Sandy, and the fiercely quiet monk seemed to share the sentiment. Who would’ve thought, he thinks. That the two of them would be so well suited to each other. It divided their small group, but it wasn’t an unpleasant division. Instead, WuKong found more space in his sleeping spot.

            He found that he only shared his blankets with Sanzang, who clung onto him as if his very life depended on it. Most days it did. But the nights in which humans rest and demons play? Usually it didn’t depend so much on him then. Demons knew better than to fool around with their group at night. The temptation of the monk during the night when demons were strongest was a suicidal notion at best. “WuKong,” Tripitaka murmurs. “Might I ask a question?” The monkey dips his head as the monk situates himself. He was straightening his robes, arranging his legs into something comfortable. He’s stalling, but why the King wasn’t too sure.

            “If I can give you an answer,” WuKong replies. “I will gladly do so.” Dear Great Sage, the promise once spoken cannot be broken. And almost as if it triggered something, the monk looks away from him at once. There was a twitch in his cheek, a frown marring his face. Something dark was troubling the monk, and WuKong’s fingers twitched as though he wanted to grip his staff. He wanted to battle away what darkness marred the bald man’s visage, but knew it wasn’t his fight to win.

            Instead, WuKong waits for Sanzang to speak, leaning forward. His tail twitches, betraying his impatience, but he’s still for the most part. “I hold many worries,” the monk begins. “For the journey, for the group...For _us_.” It was the first time he’d heard the words slide past his master’s mouth. _Us_. What were they? He couldn’t be sure. Old Monkey had lived so long, had seen so many things, and this mortal was defining and redefining the edges and boundaries they’d clung to. These boundaries, these edges to their relationship smoothed or blurred as the monk grew closer to him. WuKong’s golden eyes narrow thoughtfully, and he cautioned himself to hold onto the patience that was threatening to escape his fragile grasp. He never will master that patience the monk held with such grace.

            “We’ve been through so much.” A blunt statement that couldn’t be denied. The monk had taken hold of the rebel, the Havoc of Heaven and molded him into something that he’d never thought to be before. A hero. Someone that was welcomed with open arms. Someone that cared for justice and righting the very wrongs that Heaven had sought to punish people with. No longer were there whispers where he went. No longer were there condescending gazes lingering on his back. He was _wanted_ as a guest.

             Sanzang continues, his voice that was once soothing is now quiet and withdrawn. “And though this journey soon ends, we’ll be going on other ones thereafter. The future seems so set, as though it were carved from stone or molded by iron. I ask this, Pilgrim Sun, as it weighs down my heart and almost makes it unbearable to withstand it: You’ve promised me many times that you would stay by my side after our journey. But does it truly not trouble you that I cannot complete the duties in marriage?”

            Completing the duties of marriage? A wife’s duty is to bear child, to run a household , to join the yin and yang with her husband—joined in ways that would be impossible for two males. Neither of them had the parts necessary for such things, and the monkey didn’t care to find a spell to rectify such a foolish thing. WuKong is silent, staring hard at the monk until the bald man looks at him with a despairing look. “I’ve been with women,” the Great Sage states slowly. Carefully. He’s weighing his words with a delicate touch that Sanzang was surprised that WuKong was familiar with such softness. “I’ve nothing to gain either way, Tripitaka.” Situating himself much like his master, Pilgrim Sun becomes the teacher now.

            Though he wasn’t a wordsmith, WuKong begins. “Not one man, not one woman, not one _person_ is incomplete, Master. We are whole. We are individuals, not pieces to a puzzle that’s ever unfinished. Some men hold more yin, some women hold more yang. That makes them compatible. Not incomplete. We who are immortal, we who come from Heaven desire for no such companionship. We are balanced, needing not to fulfill this urge normal people do. We aren’t perfect, but if we needed other people to continue going on? A lot of us would’ve been driven insane by now.”

            WuKong pauses, gathering his thoughts and words. “Master, I’ve come to care for you a great deal. You made me want to grow. I’ve achieved much mischief and I will continue to do so as we go on. But of all the people I’ve met, I’ve never been dissatisfied with my words spoke or actions taken. You make me consider what I do, what I say and how it touches the people around me. And I’d like to think I’ve changed you too. You’ve become bold, cautious. A calm leader to our merry band of misfits.”

            He laughs quietly, and only gives pause when he sees his master raise his hands. It was enough talk for the night, he thinks. And when the King curls into his blankets, he doesn’t have to wait long before the monk joins him. He rather enjoyed the feeling of being tucked against someone, their long limbs draping over him and trying to keep him close. He normally wouldn’t allow such closeness from anyone. But Sanzang was an exception. The damned monk was _always_ an exception.


End file.
